Don't Scream
by Eeko
Summary: What if Thresh didn't kill Clove? What would happen then? A retarded story... DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!


Just as the first ray of sun glints off the Cornucopia, there's a disturbance on the plain. The ground before the mouth of the horn splits in two and a round table with a snowy white cloth rises into the arena. On the table sit four backpacks, two large black ones with the numbers 2 and 11, a medium sized green one with the number 5, and a tiny orange one- really I could carry it around my wrist- that must be marked with a 12.

The table has just clicked into place when a figure darts out of the Cornucopia, snags the green backpack, and speeds off. Foxface! Leave it to her to come up with such a clever and risky idea! The rest of us are still poised around the plain, sizing up the situation, and she's got hers. She's got us trapped, too, because no one wants to chase her down, not while their own pack sits so vulnerable on the table. Foxface must have purposefully left the other packs alone, knowing that to steal one without her number would definitely bring on a pursuer. That should have been my strategy! By the time I've worked through the emotions of surprise, admiration, anger, jealousy, and frustration, I'm watching that reddish mane of hair disappear into the trees well out of the shooting range. Huh. I'm always dreading the others, but maybe Foxface is the real opponent here.

She cost me time, too, because by now it's clear that I must get to the table next. Anybody who beats me to it will easily scoop up my pack and be gone. Without hesitation, I sprint for the table. I can sense the emergence of danger before I see it. Fortunately, the first knife comes whizzing in on my right side and I'm able to deflect it with my bow. I trn, drawing back the bowstring and send an arrow straight at Clove's heart. She turns just enough to avoid a fatal hit, but the point punctures her upper left arm. Unfortunately, she throws with her right, but it's enough to slow her down a few moments, having to pull the arrow from her arm, take in the severity of the wound. I keep moving positioning the next arrow automatically, as only someone who has hunted for years can do.

I'm at the table now, my fingers closing the tiny orange backpack. My hand slips between the straps and I yank it up on my arm, it's really too small to fit on any other part of my anatomy, and I'm turning to fire again when the second knife catches me in the forehead. It slices above my right eyebrow, opening a gash that sends a gush running down my face, blinding my eye, filling my mouth wit the sharp, metallic taste of my own blood. I stagger backward but still manage to send my readied arrow in the general direction of my assailant. I know as it leaves my hands it will miss. And then Clove slams into me, knocking me flat on my back, pinning my shoulder to the ground with her knees.

_This is it,_ I think, and hope for Prim's sake that it will be fast. But Clove means to savor the moment. Even feels that she has time. No doubt Cato is somewhere nearby, guarding her, waiting for Thresh and possibly Peeta.

"Where's your boyfriend, District Twelve? Still hanging on?" she asks.

Well, as long as we're talking I'm alive. "He's out there now. Hunting Cato," I snarl at her. Then I scream at the top of my lungs. "Peeta!"

Clove jams her fist into my windpipe, very effectively cutting off my voice. But her head's whipping from side to side, and I know for a moment she's at least considering I'm telling the truth. Since no Peeta appears to save me, she turns back to me.

"Liar," she says with a grin. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? The medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it."

Clove opens her jacket. It's lined with an impressive array of knives. She carefully selects an almost dainty-looking number with a cruel, carved blade. "I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show."

I'm struggling now in an effort to unseat her, but it's no use. She's too heavy and her lock on my too tight.

"Forget it, District Twelve. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally... what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?" Clove asks. "Now, where to start?"

She carelessly wipes away the blood from my wound with her jacket sleeve. For a moment, she surveys my face, tilting it from side to side as if it's a block of wood and she's deciding exactly what pattern to carve on it. I attempt to bite her hand, but she grabs the hair on the top of my head, forcing me back to the ground. "I think..." she almost purrs, "We'll start with your mouth." I clamp my teeth together as she teasingly traces the outline of my lips with the tip of the blade.

I won't close my eyes. The comment about Rue has filled me with fury, enough fury I think to die with some dignity. As my last act of defiance, I will stare her down as long as I can see, which will probably not be an extended period of time. I will not cry out, I will die, in my own small way, undefeated.

"Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your mouth anymore. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?" she asks. I work up a mouthful of blood and saliva and spits it into her face. She flushes with rage. "All right then. Let's get started."

I brace myself for the agony that's sure to follow.

And follow it does.

Clove places the knife to the edge of my upper lip. I tense, but am still unprepared for the jerk as she brings the blade sharply down, cutting into my lip. I just manage not to cry out as the blade sinks deeper and deeper. I barely hold back tears as Clove continues to press down on the knife, a sadistic smile on her face. I take deep breaths, and that helps some.

Finally, with a final rush of pain, I feel the tip of the knife break through my flesh and into my mouth. Blood is running uncontrollably down my chin, and a few tears leaked out, unnoticed by Clove. I blink, and hiss as quietly as possible as Clove begins to saw.

Up, down, up, down. The pain is unbearable as she begins to cut my upper lip away. Just as she is halfway through and I am about to scream, she stops and pulls out the knife.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Clove laughs at me. I see Thresh coming behind her and I am hoping he will kill her, end the burning pain that's residing on my mouth, when she suddenly turns around and throws a knife into Thresh's heart.

A cannon fires, and Thresh is out of the game.

"Now, now... where were we?" Clove asks. And suddenly she slams the knife back in, and I catch whimpers in my throat as she cuts again.

_Think of Rue,_ I tell myself, _Think of Prim._ Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

It is useless, all of these thoughts, of the promises I made, all useless, as with a final cut, my upper lip is severed from my face, tearing a terrified scream away from me. I dimly register Clove laughing, see Cato nearby, try to stop the blood and tears flowing down my face but it is useless.

Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

I scream again, screaming as Clove cuts into my bottom lip. I hear Cato laughing, see Clove smirking, and all I feel is pain. My face is on fire as the wet sticky blood flows down my face and Clove cuts off my bottom lip. The pain is unbearable, and I convulse and shriek at the top of my lungs.

I try to steady myself. Don't scream. Deep breaths. This is a mistake as the air whooshes and rushes into my bloody chunk of mouth, and I scream again. I think of Prim, and abruptly stop. But there is no taking back the sound I have just emitted, and I will die knowing I was humiliated in front of all the districts and the Capitol.

A new pain enters my mind as Clove slowly and agonizingly presses the knife into my stomach. I clench my teeth together. Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream!

I mute myself as the knife digs deep into my stomach, pushing my organs around. This is a new pain, a worse pain than all of the pain I have suffered in my entire life rolled together, and I let out an ear- piercing shriek as I feel the blade pushing my organs around. I scream and scream until finally, there is one last burst of pain, and I'm barely conscious. I feel a gaping hole in my stomach, see Clove laughing as she holds up something on the blade of the knife. It is red, slimy, and small. It is one of my organs, and I let out another shattering scream, a scream for the pain, for the horror, for the unreality of it all.

But it is real, and I'm clenching my teeth together, trying to stop from screaming again, when Clove presses the organ against my mouth, touching my mutilated lips, which brings another shriek from me. Clove takes advantage and shoves my organ into my mouth.

"Eat it," she commands, "Or else I will cut off your ear." she places the knife at my ear, but I refuse to eat the organ, spitting it at Cato instead. I know she will cut off my ear anyway, and I try to remind myself through the searing pain in my stomach. Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

It is useless as my ear falls to the ground, and my second ear follows. I'm screaming at the top of my lungs, writhing, jerking, convulsing. Clove does one final thing- she severs all of my hands and feet. I'm at the edge of unconsciousness, threatening to black out from the pain, my throat hoarse, but I keep screaming and jerking, even though I know this will only hurt me more. I barely see Clove and Cato sitting together, watching me and laughing at my pain.

They will leave me here, and they will watch me as I scream myself to death. I'm lying in a humongous pool of blood, and more keeps pumping out.

Finally, Clove comes over. "How was that, District Twelve?" she asks, smirking at me. Just then, Peeta staggers into the edge of the clearing, but I don't notice, too wrapped up in my own pain, trying not to choke on my own blood.

I hear the dull _thunk_ of a knife hitting a body. Another cannon fires, and I'm wishing it's mine but it isn't: It's Peeta's.

I do not know this until Cato lumbers over and tells me, to increase my agony, though I barely hear him over the screams torn from me. I'm wishing that I would just die, and that the cannon would fire and all of this would end, when it does.

Darkness encloses me, and I scream for one last time. My last thought:

Don't scream.


End file.
